Superman: Enter the Knight
by ImperfectSystem
Summary: We live in a world that struggles to find the line between good and evil. How does humanity discriminate between the two? Can one really stand for all that is right and good while another is painted as evil or wrong? One triumphs over another but there is no Dark vs Light, no such thing as the Unjust vs the Justified. There is no Batman vs Superman. There is only Power...
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

 _ **HIROSHIMA, AUGUST 6**_ _ **TH**_ _ **, 1945.**_

The sun, with its vibrant warmth rose into a clear blue sky over the city, a promising and pleasant day. Nothing in the day's dawning indicated that it would be any different from its predecessors. I walked down the quiet streets, a card that read Dr Shuntaro Hachiya displayed upon my jacket. I was excited. It was my first day of duty at the Shima Hospital and I have to say, I was feeling great about this.

The hour was early; the morning still, warm, and beautiful. I grin to myself as I walk, passing some old friends working the bakery. I wave but continue on my path. It was my first day after all. I see some young boys in the streets, already up and about, kicking a red ball around without a care in the world. Finally the ball rolls to me. I smile and as usual, I balance the ball on my foot, showing off some football tricks I picked up the UK. I wasn't a bad player, but I was no Stanley Matthews.

I glance at my watch and tell the kids that I have to go. It was fun while it lasted, but I had work to do. I hear a low rumbling, an engine in the distance, but apart from that, well, it felt peaceful.

I had been pining for a position at Shima Hospital, it was an inexpensive clinic with rather high standards of treatment. I guess I was more than honoured to be accepted and with my semi-British background as well.

At last I see the clinic up ahead— a two storey building of brick construction with reinforced walls and a rather modern design.

Shimmering leaves, reflecting sunlight from a cloudless sky made a pleasant contrast with shadows in the surrounding gardens. I see a child emerge from within, one of my mentors had just released a boy who had yesterday undergone some surgery to his head, successfully I might add. I see him now, coming out to bid farewell the grateful mother.

He had told me once that the hospital was going to make a change to the world. Cheap and accessible medical care, we needed more of that. Often I'd smile as I passed the hospital, so long ago when it was a little out of reach. Strange, how well one recall little and somewhat trivial things that I remember vividly, how a stone lantern in the garden where the boys were playing had become brilliantly lit and I debated whether it was caused by a magnesium flare or sparks from a trolley. I hear the grumble again and look back to see the boys looking and pointing up. I followed them, as I stood there, looking up I saw a shower of papers whooshing ahead and away from us, blown away in the morning wind.

Luckily I had already packed a pair of binoculars in my bag. Through them I saw a small silhouette of a plane, covered by a layer of clouds. Then I see another form separated from the plane. It was hurtling down. At once I saw what it was and I dared to say I was frightened. It was a giant bullet shaped object, falling at an alarming rate that I feared for what it could…no wait…it's different. The bullet shaped object had begun to break apart, a shell for what contained inside.

All around me there were gasps. For me, I was silent but not by choice for I found myself unable to speak, unable to move. The object, the capsule falling down—what was inside had taken yet another form as it came closer and my looking device had better focus. A humanoid man was what I saw, a big blueish man in the foetal position hurtling down like it was about to make a bomb into a swimming pool. Then, as it picked up even more speed, it started to glow.

Suddenly a strong flash of light startles me—and another one. Garden shadows disappeared. The view where a moment ago had been so bright and sunny was now dark and hazy.

I followed the glowing man with my eyes as it descended upon…no!

Shima Hospital had been a great inspiration to me. Something to be proud of my own nation for, in a time of war and death, what better way to see such travesties than the actions taken to preserve as much life as possible. Now it was ground zero for a tragedy that I scarcely believed was happening as houses around me collapsed, I too was knocked down and….I well I cannot recall, nor do I seem to want to. All I hear is a constant ringing in my ears, drumming like sirens in my head. A bit tipsy, I try to get myself up though only halfway. I was disoriented, even as the ringing stopped.

What I do remember was that soon after, I heard a deafening _BOOOM!_ The man, now a powerfully radiant blue glow before finally combusting into a massive ball of colours which just expanded and expanded just above the Shima, into a blinding light that encapsulated the hospital…and soon me.

A wall of dust and debris was coming right at me like an enraged beast, a menacing thicket of dust and something else. It enveloped the landscape before me, as for me, I just sat there, on my knees, as helpless as a newborn child, I hadn't even realised it but tears streamed down the side of my cheeks. When it hit—when I found myself within this wall of death, I was nearly thrown back by the sheer force, but my body, blazing, melting in the radiation.

Soon…in the pain, everything else became but a blur, a blur that transformed into that of unconsciousness—and then…

* * *

 **-=O=-**

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: The main purpose of writing any type of fiction usually transcends mere story telling. Sometimes I find it difficult to maintain original notions, the same ones I had when first I begin my stories. Perhaps Superheroes may not need to have any sort of high message in their stories, to go back to their original simplistic forms, but sometimes I find that whether or not Comic Superheroes like Spider-Man, Batman, Black Widow or Superman have a deeper outlook on philosophical approach to real world issues, I'm hard-pressed to say that the world has accepted them as anything more than picture books of characters dressed in their underwear doing silly things.**

 **It's a sad notion, that the world still cannot see a deeper argument and find an idea of hope common within them all, and sometimes I see it slowly effect writers Comic Book or otherwise. As if in order to be "Realistic" one cannot find the notion of hope or faith in the answers, in the truth. Take Superman and Zack Snyder and Dave Goyer's approach to the Superman myths, claiming a "realistic" approach to Superman had taken out much of the hopeful feeling within the films especially in BvS with the introduction of an already dark Batman. But alas, if you come to think about it, it's what people asked for, it's what the studios and executives wanted. One needs only to watch a YouTube reviews on anything Superman related and you'll see it. Now this work I feel I want more than anything to try and address the political state of the world, something I wished BvS would focus more on instead. Maybe have Lex as a partner to General Sam Lane and the government trying to bring down both Batman and Superman because their very existences were statements against them. Yes the message in BvS and even MoS was admirable but it felt forced. Having people state that Superman can't help but help others is not enough, having people say that Superman is kind or Clark Kent is a "nerd" isn't enough. Also, having Martha restate 'People fear what they don't understand,' was stupid and useless seeing as Jon Kent said that exact same thing in MoS, word for word.**

 **Now I'm getting ahead of myself, as a disclaimer, I do not own any of these characters who are tethered to DC Publications and Warner Bros. I must also apologise for my depiction of the last moments in the Hiroshima bombing if it is inaccurate or seems insensitive of me.**

 **Again I also find myself torn about how to go about writing this. I had felt it could be a direct follow up to Superman: Arisen or I could just write one separate from it in terms of exact details of events from that first work but keeping where my characters are in now from Arisen. For example, I wanted now more to change the name of Leanna Luthor to Alexis Luthor so she maintains a shadow of villainy as Lex Luthor, or even a fresh first meeting between Clark Kent and Diana Prince. I could really use some insight on what you guys think. Straight out sequel or Fresh Follow-Up adventure.**


	2. ONE

**-SUPERMAN-**

* * *

 **[ONE]**

* * *

 **|SMALLVILLE, KANSAS|**

"Come on, Clark. Stop staring longingly into Lana's eyes and hurry-up and pitch already!" Pete Ross shouted across the open field.

Lana coyly stuck her tongue out at the yellow haired boy tapping his bat impatiently on the ground. "Your mom says patience is a virtue, Pete."

"She also says that Santa Claus is fat because he eats naughty children, so I wouldn't be putting much stock in all of the wisdom she has to offer."

"Actually that's more akin to the Krampus monster of European folklore," Clark went on seemingly oblivious. "He's the antithesis of Santa who punishes naughty children…and its not relevant."

Pete raised his hands over dramatically to the heavens. "Oh thank Christ, Lana I think he's learning. Anyway, hurry up!"

Clark sighed and begun preparing himself for his throw. As always, he took a few deep breaths and his focus had zoned in on this moment. He needed to make sure that every muscle in his body was under his every control and not to not suck at baseball, but to make sure he didn't send a ball straight through his friend like a bullet. After a good minute Clark threw the ball with succession and Pete managed to hit it a better hundred metres into the air.

"Ooh, home run, buddy!"

The three middle-schoolers laughed as they watched the ball vanish beyond the trees toward the main road. After no one else offered to fetch, Clark groaned and sped out in tail.

In no time, Clark reached the borders of his farm. The main road lay just over his fence, but curiously, the young boy came across a vehicle parked on his side of the road—it had broken down with the bonnet open and light smoke coming from within. A man was too busy behind it to notice the curious little boy inspecting him, so Clark leapt over the fence to engage him.

"Excuse me, sir, do you guys need help?"

The man, now looking perhaps a little older than his Pa, with a petite moustache over his mouth, half-moon shaped spectacles at the tip of his pointed nose and what little hair he possessed combed neatly over his head, straightened himself up again to address the young man. "Oh it's alright there young sir. Just a little engine trouble is all."

Sir? Clark didn't really know how to respond to that particular form of formality and just awkwardly bowed his upper torso slightly but all the same, he told the man that he'd go fetch his father to help him out a little.

Jonathan Kent was more than happy to do so and with his tool box had begun inspecting the damage. He was actually quite giddy if he was honest. He had never worked on a Rolls-Royce before.

While his father and the man talked and tinkered around with the car, Clark went to work locating his ball. But upon doing so he became startled when he saw in the car was a little boy as well, who looked no older than himself, dressed in a black suit and tie with a serious furrow-browed look to top it all off. The two children, two strapping young boys stayed quiet, letting the silence pass between them, their eyes locked onto each other— Clark's with curiosity and intrigue while this other boy displayed nothing but indifference, maybe a tinge of mistrust. It was the look worn by people of privilege, thought young Clark Kent as he felt his own smile falter.

Then the boy's eyes gestured below and Clark finally saw the baseball hidden behind the car's hind wheels. Once he had retrieved it he tried to encourage the strange little boy to get out of the car and join them in a game. The boy said nothing, but retreated further into the vehicle, engulfed in darkness.

...

* * *

 **|GOTHAM CITY| PRESENT DAY**

Clark gazed out of his window and watched the buildings pass by, grand skyscrapers like trees over a background of light blue and orange as the sun rises. He could see a building that stood taller than most of them, he guessed that it was probably the Wayne Enterprise Tower, hovering over the city like a palace for Wayne to watch over his subjects from.

His bus was not the most peaceful place there was—noisy kids shouting and laughing, completely out of control of their parents. To distract himself, Clark took out his phone and checked the Daily Planet feed. Most of the articles present on the front were news were various Superman related updates— _Superman Stops Air Force One Crash, Terrorist Plot Stopped by Superman_ or _Man of Steel Foils Russian Ambassador Assassination_ , and many more stuff that Clark had gotten tired of reading but then again he was not the one that names them.

Several pilots had suffered heart attacks leading to two crashes and four near crashes he had prevented, doctors boiled it down to stress. South Rhelasian nationalists targeted several government schools in protest against the unification treaty with North Rhelasia. Belle Reve inmate Floyd Lawton aka Deadshot accepted a kill contract on Russian Ambassador Vlad Kislyak, the client still a mystery however. He never liked being the centre of attention, and these past few months had proven that it was also rather dangerous as well.

When the bus got to the depot and everyone had gotten off, Clark took a taxi into the city's Diamond District and stopping at The Iceberg Lounge Hotel. Right outside he paused, looking at all the people in extravagant gowns and suits that seemed to shine in the morning light. Suddenly he felt himself a little bit underdressed, wearing blue jeans and a tucked in red plead shirt. He wondered how Perry could possibly have acquired rooms that he could hand out so casually.

Strangely the picture here was somewhat in conflict with his previous visit to Gotham all those years ago. Then again, Gotham City was also home to one of the richest families in the world, and their fate was evidence of the issues of crime throughout the city. Clark would much rather have covered that story; Crimewave in Gotham, instead of Wayne Enterprise CEO Holds Press and Charity Ball.

The inside of the Iceberg was as lavish as the outside with as much gilded embellishing as an actual palace. From his quick research of the place on his way here, Clark wasn't as surprised. The guy who owned the hotel, Oswald Cobblepot was a man of eccentrics who lived for parties and the usual debauchery common to those who lead lives without the obstacle of money getting in the way. His many clubs were really a testimony to his lifestyle. Clark shook his head and expelled his thoughts for the moment, after all his assignment was not the moral dilemma of hotel tycoons but of the press conference at Robinson Park and then the subsequent party later that evening.

Clark swung his sports bag over his shoulder and made his way to reception. The girl behind the desk, a bored looking socialite with curly brown hair was too preoccupied with filing her nails to even bother acknowledging a lowly farm boy standing before her.

After a good while of awkward silence, Clark rang the bell and she finally looked up though she did not let up from her original task but simply stared at him, somehow affronted by his interruption. "Can I help you?"

Clark cleared his throat and being 6ft 2 he had to lean in closer. "Yes um, my name's Clark Kent from the Daily Planet," he started, giving her his Press credentials. "I think I'm under Perry White's—"

"Hear you go," she cut him off, handing him a key-card with a door number to his suite and went back to herself again. Semi confused Clark tried to thank her and with an idiosyncratic step, he began to walk away.

"Don't mind Eve," said a woman also being served her key at the desk. "She's been working here since she was eighteen, you get a little sick of it after a while, even in a job you like."

Immediately Clark was taken by this woman—a young woman of dark complexion and stunningly beautiful in her V-neck dress that hugged her voluptuous frame and raven pixie cut. Clark began to stammer for words which he doubted would help endear himself for a good first impression. "Ah…it's not that I lack empathy or unfamiliar with social queues it's just…I'm sometimes what some would call a push-over."

To his surprising delight this elicited a chuckle from her and she extended her hand to him, "My name's Mari McCabe and I'm sort of a regular here."

The Daily Planet journalist accepted her greeting. "It's a pleasure, Ms McCabe. My name is Kal…Clark Ke—"

"Clark Kent," she interjected, "I know. I'm actually rather familiar with your work. Your expose on the Bialyan Civil War was very intriguing especially that you chose to write it from the point of view of the rebels instead of the Bialyan government."

"Well actually at the time it was the Quraci government backed by the United States that fought the Bialyan resistance," Clark quickly corrected, trying to ignore the amount of self-pride he felt in learning he had a fan and pushed his spectacles into place again. "What can I say—the issue there was vastly complicated but identifying the aggressors to me was a little simpler…objectively."

McCabe smiled at him and nodded in agreement. Her delicate fingers travelled up her chest and rested on an animal pendant hanging around her neck. "Trust me, I get that."

The two went straight to the bar and dining halls where Clark offered to buy her a drink and he was rather pleased when he saw Mari blush and tuck a stray strand of hair that didn't really exist behind her ear. He couldn't remember the last time his heart raced in his chest like this, and were his hands sweaty?

There weren't many people at the bar at this time though the lounge was full, mostly people either waiting for their rooms or business meetings commencing in an informal and neutral zone. Music was playing in the background, a number he didn't recognise but could appreciate its setting melody.

As usual he helped his guest to her seat and ordered the first round. It was a Kent tradition to do so, followed by most of Smallville itself. "So what brings esteemed journalist Clark Kent to one of America's hotspot for criminal activity since 1918?" she asked and took a sip of the scotch. "It's not for the pretty sights."

"Maybe it's the pretty girls." He really couldn't remember the last time he did this. _Maybe I's the pretty girls?!_ Though Mari didn't seem to mind much. "No, actually my partner and I were selected to cover Bruce Wayne's charity ball."

Mari's smile widened and she scooted closer to him. Clark again had to adjust his glasses and asked her the same. "Same. For work," was her answer, again taking a larger sip of alcohol. "A small modelling gig."

Clark figured; of course she was a model. Time had seemed to slip by them and Clark was beginning to wonder where his partner had gotten to. It was almost 1pm and still she was not present, he was getting worried. Clark and Mari had been deeply enthralled in an illuminated conversation about some world issues and her own philanthropic efforts in East Africa which really impressed the worldly reporter who travelled abroad himself right after college to build up his portfolio.

Their morning seemed to go on pretty uneventfully until Clark got wisp of a national emergency from a couple of what he supposed were government officials, power walking across the foyer in silent panic. ' _Air Force One…attacked…President in danger…over Central City.'_ That was all he needed. Clark got up and made for the door but stopped short, remembering Ms McCabe who looked perplexed by his sudden erraticism.

"I'm sorry, Ms McCabe but I…I have to go," he scrambled. "My editor-in-chief just paged me…I'll ah…see you later?"

She sighed as though expectedly and just smiled at him. "Yeah…sure, uhm…maybe I'll see you at Wayne's?"

All Clark could do was nod and dash out, mentally kicking himself in the balls. Running into none other than his partner Lois Lane herself, carrying behind her a large suitcase and overcoat hanging around her arm.

"Yo, easy there, Smallville. What's the rush?"

"Oh no, I aint sharing nothing, Lois," he chuckled, shifting backward toward the exit. "Every time I talk about a story I'm interested in doing, it always ends up becoming yours by the end of the day."

"Don't hate the player!" Lois just huffed, shaking her head as she watched the bumbling idiot that was one of her closest friends vanish through the revolving door out into Gotham.

Outside, people walked here and there, unaware of anything happening on one side of the street or the other. For Clark it was different, he could hear pretty much everything and it took a lot for him to dial it down, filter it so he could make out what was happening or being said. It took a long time for him to master it, to focus on just what he wanted to focus on. One of many skills he had acquired over the years but now, the American president's private aeroplane was being hijacked in mid-air and demanded he use them all.

Clark looked for a deserted alleyway, away from the view of the public. He checked around first just to be sure and when he was, took off his glasses, revealing eyes a shade of blue unlike anyone else on the planet. Then he ripped open his shirt and there on his chest behind it was a bright red S in a diamond shaped shield—his family crest, the symbol for the House of El. He made short work of the other items of clothing until now he was drenched in blue, with a pair of red boots over the shins and red cape flowing behind.

This was how the world knew him, in a tight costume that hugged his physique and when he reached out to the sky and flew, this was how the world saw him. At this moment he was no longer Clark Kent the mild-mannered newspaper report, he was sure he wasn't even Kal-El the last son of a dead world. No, right now, it was a job for Superman…

* * *

. . .

 **|AIR FORCE ONE|**

 _ **SIX HOURS AGO…**_

He was out of place, he felt out of place and he was pretty sure he looked out of place, but he guessed it was the commotion happening around them that was working in his favour. It was a very good day. Getting on the plane was a piece of cake, security was otherwise preoccupied and the protocol for the president's safety was mere routine now.

Raza climbed up to the communication centre, cautiously looking about. A lot of windows right now but he could not risk it. If he could pull this off without a hitch, then maybe he would not have to kill anyone.

 _Stage two—plant bug on communications relay, nothing too terrible, just something to stall network connections to the president's private laptop. I had already established myself a computers kind of guy to the force and the president himself._

 _Stage three—plant the Djinn program into his computer and acquire the files._

It was easy, simple, and the situation he was in now made it even more so. He had been working on this for months now. Luckily his military experience allowed him to avoid going through the rookie status first and he was bumped up pretty fast. All that he had to focus on was gaining their trust, getting the leader of the United States of America to confidently hand him a loaded gun.

He kept his stern look as he passed by the workers there, eyes glued to their screens. Though they were not to be underestimated. People of high intellect had one usual designation when employed by the government…pacification. Either you were already pacified and useful, or you're intellect was a threat that needed to be controlled…channelled.

Raza feigned disinterest as he walked across the room of darkness and neon light. He chose one at the far corner to hitch on a small dot, smaller than a grain of rice. He just needed to place it on the actual hard drive.

For the next hour or so he stood with his colleagues when the president called him up front to his suite—internet problems…

But something was not right.

President Tod P. Rand was seated on his sofa, feet crossed on the other side, laid back as he watched television. There were two others with him, security detail as hardcore as himself. The two stiff regarded him closely...eyes focussed with suspicion. Raza had to curse himself under his breath for he had been compromised. Still not all was lost and if he could only get close enough to the computer, all he'll need to do was turn Digital Djinn on.

"You look a little bit peached, Deckard," said the president who despite his seeming incompetent term was also not to be underestimated. He continued his routine 'Executive Time', seemingly paying him no attention. He then chuckled lightly and said, "Or do you prefer Kattuah?"

There it was. His name, the one he was born with— Raza Kattuah. People had something to say about President Rand as a person as well as a leader. Foolish decisions that forced a shutdown of government, marginalisation of half of his citizens and completely alienating the country from the rest of the world made him a very unpopular leader despite his boasts of accomplishments imagined. Yet here he seemed in control, like he was an entirely new creature altogether...a dangerous creature.

Fortunately…he was one too…

 **DISCLOSURE: All names and characters belong to DC Comics and Warner Bro.**


End file.
